Yom Kippur as Manifest in an Approaching Dorsal Fin by Adam Byrn Tritt Page A

to write down
    what she has told me. I want to see it, to read
    it, again and again. To know it was not just
    me. She did and I include it here. It is a bit
    more than I had anticipated. It is
    unedited.
    I felt I needed to add my two cents to
    your essay. I was a participant also.
    How sad for her. How much hate
    can cheat you out of life. This poor,
    ignorant woman who was afraid her
    daughter-in-law was after her money
    cheated herself out of life’s joys and
    died bitter and hating. Although she
    lived to a very ripe old age of 94, she
    cheated herself from knowing and
    loving not only her grandchildren,
    but her great-grandchildren. How
    horribly sad for her. In her worry
    about being robbed, she not only
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    cheated herself, but three generations
    behind her. She cheated my husband
    and his brother from having a grand-
    mother who loved them. They also
    cheated themselves out of knowing
    their children, grandchildren and
    great-grandchildren. How sad is
    that?
    My children, her great-grandchil-
    dren, who are lucky enough to know
    their great-grandparents, do not like
    them. They are duly compensated,
    however, in having the loving grand-
    parents that my husband and his
    brother do not.
    So who did she hurt with her hate?
    Let’s see . . . her son, his wife, and their
    two sons. But the list does not end
    here. It also includes others in the
    family who are baffled by this hatred.
    The non-understanding that was
    prevalent at her funeral. Questions
    unanswered as to why this had
    occurred.
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    Uneasiness all around by the few
    other friends and family members
    who showed up.
    I think there were six of them.
    Erika was not in the kitchen the entire time.
    Part of the time she spent with Lee. Upset,
    she needed someone to talk with, to vent to.
    She knows Lee. Lee is not part of the family.
    Not by blood. Erika knows how she feels and
    Lee is safe.
    Erika is angry. She ranted on and on about
    how the brother and sister treat my father
    like a dog. Dog is the word she used. Over
    and over. As we wait near the bar, Lee goes
    on, more and more. She needs this off her, out
    of her.
    Erika was there when grandmother died.
    She was there for her last words.
    Grandpa came near. To him she says, “I
    always knew you’d steal my money.”
    And then, “Get away from me, you
    bastard.”
    And she died.
    There is a break at the bar. They have Guin-
    ness on tap. It is four dollars and a quarter a
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    pint. Four and a quarter and far too many
    calories. I don’t actually need this. I order one.
    The cliff is always closer than it appears.
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    Passover and
    the Industrial
    Revolution
    Every Passover I bake matzah.
    I wait until there is
    Nothing left to do,
    I wait for the lull
    In the torrent of business and busyness
    And preparation for the unexpected
    guest,
    The soup is bubbling slowly
    Covered, tzimmes done,
    Choroseth setting
    And Passover plate
    Covered, in the fridge
    Next to the gefilte fish.
    When there is nothing left to do
    And everything is finished
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    I bake
    I work as quickly as I can
    Rushing, like of old
    When there was everything to do
    And nothing to be done but hurry.
    I work to make bread
    Matzah shemurah,
    “Watched matzah”
    As of old,
    Before the machines were invented,
    Before 1857 and the mixers and
    kneaders,
    Rollers and perforators of the
    Industrial Revolution.
    In fewer than eighteen minutes
    From flour to done,
    Nothing can rise
    But the realization of the mitzvah,
    Purpose for preparation,
    Intention
    And prayers.
    At a temperature I can comfortably
    reach my hand into
    They bake
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    Passover and the Industrial Revolution
    Quickly
    Like bare feet on desert sand.
    When they are done
    They have opened in the
    Center, crisp and brown,
    Heavy and thick,
    Empty. Receptive . . .
    This is not like the matzah
    From a box.
    My matzah is not a gigantic saltine
    Stacked like x-ray plates
    Or cards
    Or slates.
    Although . .